


The Way We Get By

by missmollyetc



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Kink-Dominance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man should know his limits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way We Get By

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm back. This one is for [](http://gyen-gaoltosing.livejournal.com/profile)[**gyen_gaoltosing**](http://gyen-gaoltosing.livejournal.com/) who requested "Don-slash, violence, kink, sex." Uh…I got something? Somethings? Plural? I hope you like it. I'm kind of thinking of a follow up.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [numb3rs](http://missmollyetc.livejournal.com/tag/numb3rs)  
---|---  
  
_ **NUMB3RS FIC: The Way We Get By** _

Title: The Way We Get By

Pairing(s): Don/Colby

Rating: NC-17

Summary: A man should know his limits.

Author's Notes: Well, I'm back. This one is for [](http://gyen-gaoltosing.livejournal.com/profile)[**gyen_gaoltosing**](http://gyen-gaoltosing.livejournal.com/) who requested "Don-slash, violence, kink, sex." Uh…I got something? Somethings? Plural? I hope you like it. I'm kind of thinking of a follow up.

Disclaimer: Numb3rs is the product of CBS and the Scott Brothers, and I make nothing from this while they rake in the millions. Ignore me.

 

 

_Suspect then ran into the A &amp; G Munitions Warehouse whereupon myself and Agents Sinclair and Granger gave chase on foot. Suspect resisted arrest, but was then apprehended and…_

Don paused in his typing to save his document. The cursor blinked at him, the tiny arrow pointer became an hourglass, and no one whacked him on the shoulder for beginning with 'suspect' in two successive sentences. Or for using the word 'whereupon.'

Well. No one occupied the other desk in his area, either, so the lack of editorial comments shouldn't have been so much of a surprise. The workspace felt off-kilter, too heavily weighted on his end without her presence. He'd felt the same the first few days in Albuquerque. Never in LA before, of course.

A plush football whizzed over the plastic divider facing his desk. Don pushed off in his rolling chair, catching the toy against his chest with both hands. He squeezed the orange foam between his fingers.

Colby coughed to his right. Don turned his head. He looked up and Colby dropped his gaze. His back straightened, thumbs aligning with the seam of his pants. Don felt his own spine uncurl in response, but forced himself to lean back in his chair. It…he shouldn't let himself keep reacting to Colby's quirks. Colby was David's responsibility. He'd made sure of that.

"Uh…hey, Don," he said.

Don catalogued the rough note on his name. "Hey," he said, and held out the football. "Yours?"

A corner of Colby's mouth twitched. His eyes crept up to Don's throat and lingered. His fingers rubbed against each other in quick circles. The army hadn't gone in for subtle, apparently.

"Just keeping in practice," he said.

He paused, lips parted, but then he shut his mouth. Don added a 'sir' to the end of his reply anyway. Colby's habits were very slowly unraveling. Outward marks of respect turning into the deferential way Colby said 'Don,' as if it were a title and not his name. Colby had belonged to the Army for a long time before he'd belonged to the Bureau, and the more loosely structured FBI procedures still confused him sometimes. His short hair, burnished gold in the afternoon sun, still looked like an army high and tight gone to seed--a little like Coop's hair, but without the curl.

"Dramatic reenactment of last night's game?" Don asked. He swiveled his chair to face Colby

"It's a stress ball," Colby said. "Got away from me."

The last part was true, anyway, but Don'd smelled gun powder on Colby's shirts too many times to believe he made do with a stress ball. Not that he'd been overly concerned with how Colby smelled, but cordite gave off a distinct odor, and its proximity brought up certain mem--complications. Don raised his eyebrows, and waited. A flush began to climb Colby's neck. Don tossed the football, and Colby snatched it out of the air. Don caught his wrist, and felt the grit of blowback.

"Have you been icing this?" Don asked.

"It wasn't that bad."

Startled, Colby's eyes locked onto Don's. He tried to pull away when Don twisted the back of Colby's hand into view.

"Stop that," Don said and leaned forward.

Colby shuddered, and then stood still. Don looked at the damage. Bruises mottled the slopes of Colby's knuckles, deep blue and black. A scab lined the expanse of skin between his thumb and index finger. He had good hands, wide and rough. And he took orders so well.

A old, half-remembered thrum began in Don's blood. He pulled Colby's hand closer. Colby swayed forward, bent at the waist. The football bounced off Don's knee to the floor.

"So have you been icing it?" he asked.

The bruising should have faded. It was too dark for the amount of time passed.

"Yes sir," Colby whispered. "Every night."

A hot, metallic taste flooded the back of Don's mouth. He knew that tone. He shifted his grip, bringing their hands down. Colby's chest rose and fell in one quick breath. The muscle in his arm tensed when Don turned his hand up. A long, red welt bisected Colby's palm. His fingers trembled, half-curled. Don's thumb swept the rise of bones above Colby's wrist, fitting neatly into the hollow beneath. He pressed lightly, and Colby made a small noise.

"And your side? The guy got you in the ribs, didn't he?" Don asked.

"I--could show you."

In the bathroom, the one down the hall where no one ever thought to look. On his _knees_ with his bruised hand wrapped around his cock while Don fucked his mouth raw, back of his head smacking the stall wall with every thrust. Then, he could spread out against the cold metal so that Don could see the bruise staining Colby's ribs while he carved new ones into Colby's body, tearing out the old and making everything red and quivering and new.

"Please?"

Don tilted his head up, and Colby's whisper brushed over his face. The pink tip of Colby's tongue pressed the middle of his bottom lip. His pupils were blown, just a thin rind of brown. Don realized he was driving his nails into Coby's wrist.

An agent. His _junior_ agent. Don let go and stood, forcing Colby back to the entryway. Colby's shoulders pushed back. The neck of his polo shirt gaped on either side of his collarbones, framing the bob of his Adam's apple. Don took a breath, watching Colby mimic him. Careful. You had to be so careful with probationary agents, even the ones who cut their eyeteeth on war zones. He'd given David to Terry for just the same reason.

He cleared his throat. "David's working on your report?"

Colby nodded, hands in fists at his sides. The scab near his thumb cracked. His mouth thinned to a line, eyes in the middle distance.

"All right."

Colby backed up a step, turned, and walked away. Over his shoulder, Don could see David watching them from his own desk area. Don glanced at the empty desk opposite his, and sat back down.


End file.
